Janell Rhiannon
Birth
Livingstone Saga
Book One
Princess Guild Publishing
An Indie Press
California, USA
Copyright @ 2013 by Janell Rhiannon
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage device without permission in writing from the publisher or author.
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This book is a work of fiction. References to historical events and people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons or locales, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Kindle 1st Edition published by Princess Guild Publishing
ISBN 13: 978-1483972831
ISBN 10: 1483972836
Cover Art by @ Two Sisters
Cover Art by Dreamstime
Cover Design by @ Two Sisters
Edited by Melissa @ There For You Book Editing and Review
Summary: 13th century. Secretly carved from scared livingstone, the gargoyle Celestino must chose to obey the required oath written in the Codex of Gargoyles, or betray everyone to follow his own desires?
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Excerpts of Tristan and Isolde are used from public domain files.
Excerpts of 1611 King James Bible are used from public domain files.
For Kali Rose
the little señorita in my life
this one is just for you
my sunshine and giggles
on Saturday mornings
The sun rose and set,
Yet, death refused to obey his private tears
He knew only the death of not possessing her
So he sought solace in casting evil back to the abyss
Always his bloody tears following
Always the death of not possessing her
Iseo a ghost behind every corner, every tree, every thought
Peace eluded his heart as a mist
Sorrow his only companion
Calling him home, but he was already home
Calling him to her smile, but she was only a dream
I will not forget you
I will not forget us
Codex of Gargoyles
The angels fell to earth like burnt stones. Their cries filled the universal expanse of blue sky between Heaven and Earth. Without regret, God turned a deaf ear to their tormented cries as they fell. When they begged forgiveness, He threw thunder and lightning at them, not to kill them, but rather to remind them of their treachery. Their angelic betrayal ended with a ferocious holy hurl, a descent through atmospheric flames that singed their wings, a suffocating choking, and a sickness born from the knowledge of what was and what would never be again. So, angels fell like burnt stones, scattered across the world, condemned to aimless wandering.
Thus, Hell began on Earth before it seeped into the molten core. Their angelic arrogance caused them to deny the permanence of their fall. Who knows, except them, when this clash between Heaven and Earth commenced. The apocalypse is known only by God, and He has kept the secret for millennia, refusing to give up His date of reckoning. During the Separation from the Light, the deepest, darkest pain angels carried began to weigh on their shoulders. This pressed them into darker places, where they hid from the emptiness that filled their being, the emptiness where God used to dwell. Slowly, it dawned on their collective minds that there was no hope of the forgiveness God afforded so effortlessly to mankind. Anger began to boil, festering slowly in their minds, sown ever deeper by their discord. The Fallen began to hate mankind, who became their enemies through the haze of flame and ash. The Fallen joined with lower demons to torment their common foe. Heaven and Earth divided. Hell’s molten stench surged up through the Earth’s upper crust, allowing demons and the Fallen to torment God’s soulful creatures. They tempted them with false promises, and led them to Hell...holding hands with the burning darkness forever.
Legions of angels, commanded by Archangels, were sent to protect mankind from the Fallen and their demon soldiers. God saw that a new creation was needed to become the defender of mankind...one who could fight amongst men, one who could understand and protect them. One who was strong enough to fight the Fallen—but not covet a place in Heaven—because they belonged to this Earth. They were made of stone, created by the God inspired human hands of Makers, but not by God himself. The new warriors He called gargoyles.
God inspired the chosen Makers with visions and dreams of fantastic creatures with wings and animal faces. The Makers, following their dreams like sailors mapping a journey by the North Star, began to free the gargoyles from the livingstone. Only humans and angels are made by the hand and breath of God, and their reward is a place in Heaven. The gargoyles, made by the hands of their Makers, are forever barred from Heaven. In fact, the very act of their creation is the barrier between them and Heaven, therefore, they do not desire Heaven. They are soulless creatures, but not without gentle hearts and forceful minds. It is these traits that make them the most powerful intermediaries between demons and human souls, for they are the sacred exorcists.
España (Spain) 1210 AD
Chapter 1
Birth
The moonlight bathed the gargoyle in a translucent silver glow. Shadows fell across his face in a way that made her think she saw him move, but she knew it couldn’t happen before the dead hour. That slip of time when night ends, morning begins, and everything is hushed. Iseo waited nervously for the lion beast to awake. A breeze pushed a branch against the window, drawing her attention to the eerie scraping. She walked toward the window and looked up. Between the boughs she saw the radiant moon, an ancient pagan symbol of mother. The white orb hung fully rounded like the belly of a pregnant woman. How fitting, she thought, a full moon will birth my gargoyle from his livingstone silence to breathe his first air.
It frightened her to be alone with this birth. It was forbidden for anyone except the Maker to be present at the moment of animation by first breath, for only Makers were permitted the privilege of seeing their God inspired work transform from stone to life. Ever after, others could observe the human and stone form, but never the gargoyle in his full terrifying glory, except for the demons he wrestled back to Hell. Gargoyles lived among a chosen few, shrouded by the church among the mysteries of Heaven and Hell. They were protected by legends, myths, and make-believe. Consequently, people believed and did not believe at the same time.
The hair on Iseo’s arms stood on end, as stillness settled inside and outside the room. The candle wicks spat and sputtered in their squat wax cylinders. The dead time had begun. Her eyes transfixed on the gargoyle. The golden flecks in the livingstone shimmered first, branching out in golden veins pumping life into the stone figure. Light burst from his chest with a roar that shook Iseo’s bones and the timbers of the room. His leathery wings flew open like a ship’s sails catching a strong wind on an open sea. He flapped them wide, knocking glass jars and stone working tools off the workbench, snuffing out most of the candles in the room. Iseo stifled a scream, not so much because she did not want to, but because the scream remained trapped in her throat and the pathetic sound produced was no more audible than a sigh. Instead, her mouth opened in terror and awe; any remaining doubt she had that her work was indeed inspired by divine intervention evaporated. The moment she looked into his gray-blue eyes, she believed in God more than she ever had in her entire life. Doubts she didn’t even know she harbored fell away. Pure faith filled her completely, like
a jug of water poured to overflowing in a cup. This is what purpose feels like.
The winged lion inhaled his first air, blinked, and folded his wings behind him. He sat perfectly still on the carving dais, watching her, waiting for her signal. Iseo approached cautiously, forcing her shaking limbs to move forward. She reached with a trembling hand to touch his nose, half expecting to feel coarse stone and was quite shocked to feel a wet black muzzle. He tilted his head to receive her touch, pressing his cheek into her palm. His gentle nudge calmed her fear of being devoured as a first meal. She brought her free hand up, cradling the other side of his face and gazed into his round leonine eyes. The gray-blue pools shimmered with swirling streaks of gold. She knew instantly that he was truly a magnificent beast of God. “Holy Jesus,” Iseo gasped, crossing herself.
The gargoyle stretched all four legs and shook his body, much the way a hunting hound shakes off water from a river swim...from head to tail, and then each paw. As he stepped down from the carving dais with the unsteady legs of a newly foaled colt, his tail whipped a mortar and pestle from the table top, causing him to turn around with a start. Iseo backed up to give him room. He did not seem to understand his size in the confined space.
“It is just a tool. It is all right,” she said.
He blinked at her and nodded his head. His body began to shimmer. Iseo stepped back so fast she tripped over a three pronged stool. She shrieked as a tremor shook his splendid frame from the tip of his wings to his clawed feet. A roar tore from his throat as he reared up on his hind legs. His wings flapped frantically once, twice, and the third time folded up into nothing behind him. With spasms and shudders, his body reconfigured into that of a man.
The gargoyle-man coughed, arching his back, trying to find some comfortable space inside himself for the immense form he concealed. The beast of stone she knew, the beast of flesh she easily accepted, but the man—dark haired and powerful—was a stranger. He stood straight and strong, unashamed of his nakedness. Iseo had never seen a grown man without clothes. A hot blush rushed to her cheeks as she undid her work apron and handed it to him. He took it, saying nothing.
“You wrap it around your body,” she stammered quietly. He just looked at her and blinked. A pained innocence filled his eyes, which remained blue-gray like the livingstone he was carved from. He looked entirely naïve about his purpose, about the war he would be fighting. Iseo finally stepped forward, taking the cloth in hand and wrapping his mid-section. The end of the cloth she tucked into the waist. “For modesty’s sake,” she explained, hoping her embarrassment would fade from her cheeks.
Iseo offered water to the newly born stranger. His hand clumsily took the goblet before raising it to his lips, greedily gulping the water down.
“May the Lord bless you and keep you,” she said, still marveling at his impressive figure. She knew her training would culminate in this holy, yet entirely earthly creature divinely inspired by her God. She was not prepared, however, to see him stand before her—first, as the powerful beast, and then as a man—and it made her dizzy. For the first time, she understood that the fight between dark and light, the war between Heaven and Hell, was real. If the gargoyle existed, so too did the evil beings he was born to fight. And that terrified her. What she believed through faith now stood before her. He was the evidence that God indeed existed. He was proof of the divine, the tangible evidence the world craved in philosophical schools since Adam’s banishment from the Garden of Eden, since the flood cast Noah on stormy seas for forty days and nights, since the Immaculate Conception brought Jesus to the light. And then, he spoke.
“Have I arrived? Am I now...born?” he asked. His voice a bass so deep her ribcage felt each word.
“You can speak?” Iseo asked.
“I know your language,” he cocked his head to the side. “While you toiled to bring shape and form to livingstone, you spoke. I listened.”
“I see. I suppose that is good.”
“I am here?” he asked.
“Sí, you are freed from the livingstone.”
“Are you my Maker?”
“I am the Lord’s vessel who carved you from stone.”
The gargoyle stretched his arms wide. “You are not like me. I feel you are different.”
“This is true. I am human and you are not. But, we are not so different.”
“I do not understand your meaning.”
“We are both creatures of God. When we were created, why we were created...it does not matter. We both serve Him.”
“How do I address you, my Maker?”
“Iseo. You may call me Iseo.”
The gargoyle tilted his head. “What do you call me?”
“Celestino.”
“Celestino,” he repeated.
“It means from Heaven. You are born to serve the Lord.”
He nodded understanding. “Gracías, for freeing me.”
“You must save your thanks for Him. He guides my hands to do His will.”
Celestino took her hands in his and raised them to his lips. She felt his warm breath caress her skin as he hesitated, before gently pressing his lips to them. “Entonces, I am blessed by your gift, my Maker. I do not know this Lord you serve, or who I am expected to serve.” She blushed again. Her knees weakened and her heart beat wildly.
“You will, Celestino. I will inform Father Tomas you have arrived safely.” It had not occurred to her that the gargoyle would literally be tabula rasa...such a blank slate with such incredible power must be dangerous.
Chapter 2
God of Stone and Spirit
Years had passed since Father Tomas had beheld the wonder of a gargoyle in his sanctuary. The Makers were rare beings themselves, and to have one emerge from the flock in his parish, a woman no less, was something he regarded as miraculous. Or, perhaps, even a chance at redemption for past mistakes. He would gladly take responsibility for the spiritual training of this new creature of God, for he was determined that the past would not be repeated.
Father Tomas paused in front of the rough-hewn door, before lifting the worn iron ring to push it open. The hinges creaked. He heard the shuffle of feet as the door opened wide enough to scan the interior of the room. In the center of the room, stood a man, a full head taller than himself. He found he was quite unprepared for the sight of this magnificent specimen of power and beauty. He knew the demi-mortal before him cloaked a beast whose terror promised to burn human eyes as they rested in their sockets. He thought it must have been the female influence that produced such a beauteous exterior. It would be his job to train and teach this gargoyle-man to serve God.
“Buenos dias, Celestino,” Father Tomas greeted.
“I return your greeting, though I do not know you.”
“I am Father Tomas. Iseo told me you had successfully been born to the light.”
“Iseo, my Maker. She told me you would come.”
“I will be in charge of your training and teaching.”
“Training. Teaching. And you can do this? You are also not like me. You are like my Maker. Not of the stone flesh.”
“True enough, but I have gained the required knowledge to teach you the ways of God and train you for battle.”
“May I question...Father Tomas?” Celestino asked.
“Ask whatever you wish.”
“Who is this God?”
Father Tomas hesitated before replying, “We start with theology.” He pointed to a wooden bench in front of the table in the center of the room. “Sit. We will be here for a while.” The gargoyle remained standing. “As you wish.” He knew this new creature would be vulnerable to the forces of the Evil One and his legions of demonlings, if they were to somehow sniff out his existence before he had taken the mantle of the Lord as his shield and spear against them. This knowledge created urgency on his part.
The priest filled a tarnished silver goblet with wine from the decanter on the table. Iseo knows me so well, he thought. He drank deeply before beginning to a
nswer Celestino’s question. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to begin the explanation. “God is the beginning, and the end, of all things. He knows all things that were, are, and will be.”
“He is here? In this place?” Celestino asked.
“Sí. He is here always,” Father Tomas replied.
“Where is He? Why does He not come and show himself, like my Maker?”
“It is more complicated than that, Celestino,” Father Tomas said, realizing that what he took for granted on faith would have to be instilled in Celestino. Almost as trying as converting a pagan, except the threat of eternal damnation for his soul would prove to be no motivation for Celestino. Being crafted by human hands, he had no soul. “God is spirit, like air, and moves where He will.” Father Tomas paused briefly before continuing, “He is everywhere all at once. He is...limitless.”
“God is here now? In this room? He cannot show himself to me as my Maker?”
“Sí, He is here now. God reveals himself through your very existence.”
“I do not understand, Father,” Celestino said.
“You are proof that He is here. That He is real, that He exists,” he explained. Father Tomas tried a different tact. “People do not believe in gargoyles, Celestino.”
“But I am here, Father.” Celestino puzzled over the idea that he did not exist, yet he knew that he did.
“I know you are. Your kind is kept secret from the world. Only Iseo, your Maker, can know you in all your forms.”
“Did you not speak that this God has knowledge of all things? Does He not know me?”
“Of course. You are correct. God and Iseo know you in all your forms. Your human and stone form can be safely known by all. The flesh gargoyle may only be witnessed by God, your Maker...and the demons sent by the Evil One, whom you will fight. You are forbidden from revealing your true nature to humans; therefore, you cannot prove your existence as a defender of mankind on God’s behalf.”
“Do you see God?” Celestino asked.
“I see Him through his works. He changes people and I observe those changes. I feel His power through His work, and because of that, I know He exists.”
“There are none who see Him then?” Celestino questioned.
“No. No one.”
“But I was made to serve Him, to fight these...demons?”